He ended with his trek through the plains and eventual collapse at Tasha’s feet. He did not speak of his dreams of her, or tell them what her first words to him had been. She had asked him to keep this quiet, as her family would not understand and might even be frightened by such a revelation. Pehr did as she asked, sensing that it was best not to speak at length about such things anyway. No one was going to believe that he had dreamed of Tasha weeks or even years before meeting her, any more than they would believe that she had dreamed of journeying with him to some place that neither had ever seen.
“You are sure the Lagos will not come for us?” Ehella asked him, giving a protective glance at her children.
Pehr turned to her and said, “If they could come, they already would have. Long before I ever reached the circle of bone, they would have come to this land, and it is not so vast that you would have avoided them through all this time. They cannot pass the mountains, and they don't know you are here.”
“That these creatures you speak of would take our lands if they could reach them seems certain,” Samhad said. “If a guardian exists, then surely it must have been put there by the Gods to protect us.”
Tasha made a coughing noise, and Samhad cast a cool glance in her direction. She did not look away, but neither did she give any indication that she intended to speak further, and so he turned his gaze back to Pehr.
“What will you do now?”
Pehr had spent the entire afternoon pondering this question, but he was no closer to an answer now than when he’d started.
“I don’t know. Your daughter saved my life, and you have given me shelter, food, and water … without all of this, I would be just as dead as the Lagos had planned. Truly, I thank you, but I think I must begin the search for another way home.”
Samhad frowned. “There are no passes through the mountains that the plainsmen know of – save the one you took, which we are forbidden. The mountains run in an unbroken line far to the south and then curve eastward, where they march toward the sea. Perhaps in the north they recede, but we have traveled far in that direction and never come to their end. The land becomes thickly forested, and those who enter that place most often disappear. The few who return have always grown sickly – their hair falls out, great sores appear on their bodies, and most die soon after.”
“Then there’s no other way to return to my family,” Pehr said, and Samhad shook his head.
“None that I know of.”
Pehr sighed. As fascinating as this new land and its inhabitants were, he did not want to live out the rest of his days here. He would have to brave the circle of bone. It was the only way.
“I will have to try and get past the Lagos and the guardian,” he said at last. Tasha looked up at him, frowning.
“Not yet, surely,” she said. “You are still weak, and the Lagos may be watching for you. Give it time, Pehr.”
“What would you have me do in that time?” Pehr asked, but he already knew, and he could see on their faces that the others had reached the same conclusion. There was work to be done, and the value of a pair of strong arms and legs, an almost-adult male body to haul and chop and hunt, was nearly incalculable. He wondered for a moment if the plainsman was lying about the mountain passes in an effort to keep him.
“You’ll stay here, of course,” Tasha verified. “Your family has been stolen from you, and you are in need of one. You cannot survive here on your own.”
This was true, and Pehr knew it, but he was not yet ready to accept it. He said only, “I thank you for your hospitality with all my heart. Please take no offense when I say that I must not dwell here too long.”
“We would not keep you longer than you would stay,” Samhad said. Pehr glanced up at him. The man’s face was impassive, unreadable, and Pehr decided it was not the time to press him about the mountains.
“May I ask you about your people?” he said instead. “I know so little about this land. In my travels I have not seen any kampri, though I have heard animals moving through the grass, and you have given me meat … do you hunt? Does it ever rain?”
“It rained while you were asleep,” Ehella said with a smile.
“This is not a desert land,” Samhad told him. “But it’s not like the home you describe, where rain comes often. The plants and animals here collect the rain when it does come, and they store it well during dry times. In the cold winter months it rains more, and sometimes there is snow, to the north. There’s also often water trapped under the ground, and we maintain wells when we find a good source. There’s one not twenty strides from here.”
“Do you live here always?” Pehr asked. “I … we stay in one place, but there are more of us than this. Are there other dwellings outside of this one?”
Pehr had not yet been outside of the tent, and Tasha hadn't given him much information after hearing his story for the first time, excusing herself to finish her chores. Pehr was desperate for information, if for no other reason than to keep his mind away from thoughts of Nani and Jace.
“We follow the herds of tral, which we hunt for meat and skins, bone, horns … very little there is of a tral that we cannot make some use of.”
“I don't know these creatures,” Pehr said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one.”
“That will change,” Samhad replied. “There is a herd that grazes not so far from here. Just a small group … perhaps one hundred and fifty head.”
Pehr, who had never seen a group of animals so large as half that size in his life, raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Do the herds grow much larger than that?”
Samhad smiled. “I have seen groups of tral that are thousands strong and can cover nearly the entire horizon.”
“I would very much like to see something like that.”
“Given time, you shall. When you are feeling stronger, we will go watch the herd and I will explain to you how we make our kills.”
“Do you farm?” Pehr asked him.
“In the winters many of us go southeast and group together there, and in those places we keep community gardens of squash and vegetables, but we do not raise crops in the manner you’ve described.”
“And you don't go to the mountains.”
“Our Gods forbid it. Those who go to the mountains do not return.”
Pehr wondered how many of those adventurers had lost their lives to the metal thing, and whether the mountain path he had chosen not to take led to more such dangers. Whether the guardian was from man or god didn’t matter to him; it served its purpose, keeping the Lagos at bay, and he was glad for that even though the thing had also murdered his cousin.
“Is there anything else I can answer?” Samhad asked him, and Pehr laughed.
“I will have many questions for you in the coming days. Enough that you will grow tired of answering them, I think. But for tonight, only one: whose bed have I been occupying these past days?”
“Ketrahm has been sleeping on one of the bedrolls that we use for nights outside. Don't trouble yourself, Pehr. Our entire family is quite used to sleeping on the ground.”
“Still, I would return his bed to him tonight and use the bedroll myself, instead.”
“It’s not necessary,” Tasha said. “You are not yet back to full strength.”
“I am well enough. I know what my aunt and uncle would say of me depriving a child of his bed. Truff would have told me, Samhad, that if I wanted to sleep on one of these cots then I should learn to build one.”
This seemed a sentiment that Samhad could appreciate, and the man grinned widely, nodding. “I will teach you.”
“I thank you. And now, unless you’ve more questions for me, I think I owe Kissha some answers to her questions. We made a deal.”
Kissha glanced around on hearing her name, her cheeks coloring, and Mandia – distinguishable from her twin to Pehr only by the blue feathers in her hair – giggled. Ehella favored her daughters with a smile and stood.
“Samhad and I will prepare dinner. Tasha,
pay attention to your brother and sisters. Try to make sure they don’t trouble our guest unnecessarily.”
Tasha rolled her eyes, but she smiled a little as the children came running over. For the next hour, Pehr sat with the group of them, answering questions – most of them Kissha’s – and telling stories of his village that lay by the sea, far away to the west.
Chapter 14
When Pehr reached the crest of the hill and looked down at the herd of tral spread out below him, he found himself momentarily speechless, stunned by the sheer mass of creatures on the plain below. He and Samhad crouched down in the grass at the top of the hill, under one of the stunted trees that the plainsmen called jesuva, and for a time they observed the animals in silence. Finally Pehr spoke.
“That … is quite a lot of animals.”
Samhad chuckled. The creatures reminded Pehr of kampri, but were at least four times as large, and hairier. The bull tral, of which there was one for every fifteen or so cows, were crowned with a massive pair of horns. These weapons arced first out to the side and then forward, ending in wicked-looking points that he was quite sure could send a man to his death with ease.
“You hunt these things?” Pehr said in a tone of wonder, and Samhad nodded.
“We do.”
“How?”
“Not alone. Any given herd is tracked by many families. There are no less than six men camped nearby. We shall meet with them later today and determine from which side of the herd to attack. Most often we approach from above, but if there are animals to be taken that are old or crippled, we’ll go after them first.”
“Why?”
Samhad was still looking out at the tral. “It’s easier, and it betters the herd. An old or crippled tral will have trouble mating, bearing, or caring for children. Why eliminate a young creature that may yet produce many more tral?”
This made sense to Pehr, and he said so. He followed Samhad’s gaze out onto the vast plain, scanning the herd, and after a moment he located a limping creature – a bull – that was the obvious victim of a poorly-healed broken leg.
“That one is hurt,” he said, pointing, and Samhad grunted in acknowledgment.
“There are two other cripples as well, and an old bull, all staying near the watering hole,” the older hunter said.
Pehr glanced over in that direction; the small body of water was not itself visible, but he could see that it was surrounded by tall, green reeds, standing out against the lighter, brown-green field grass. Pehr noted the animals Samhad had mentioned and then surveyed the land around the watering hole.
“If we approach from the northern end, we’ll have height, and it will partially pin them up against the marsh.”
“Yes.”
“How many animals will we take?”
“One for every two men. There will likely be eight of us. Are you any good with a bow?”
“I can shoot. My cousin, he was …” Pehr paused, nearly overwhelmed by sudden memories of Jace. Samhad gave him the courtesy of not asking what was wrong, and eventually Pehr finished. “Jace could have hit one of those beasts in the eye from here. I’m not that skilled, but I can shoot.”
“Then with luck we will take four. The meat will be totaled up and divided evenly. Each man will get half a hide. The horns, when there are any, go to those hunters whose arrows struck nearest the brain.”
“Is that fair?” Pehr asked. In his dealings thus far with Samhad’s family, great emphasis had been placed on evenly splitting all things, whether for work or pleasure.
“Perhaps not – I have seen skilled hunters walk away with a great number of horns when it was in fact the arrows of others that did the most damage. I think we tolerate this because the horns are not so useful as they might seem. Certainly they can kill a man, but they are brittle and chip easily … useless for weapons or arrowheads. Most often we use them for decoration, and sometimes we grind up pieces of them to brew into our beer, for strength.”
“We do the same with kampri horns,” Pehr said absently, but after a moment these words struck him, and he looked over at Samhad in surprise. The older man seemed not to have noticed, but Pehr was swept up in the sudden sensation that his presence here was bridging a massive gap measured not in distance, but in time. The shared language alone was too striking to ignore, but the shared customs seemed to drive the point home, and Pehr realized that at some time in some distant past, his people and those of the plains must at least have coexisted. More likely, they had been one and the same.
Samhad turned to him. “We have our plan and should go. The longer we stay, the more we risk spooking the tral, and I would not have you witness a stampede just yet.”
“When will we meet the others?” Pehr asked as the two of them began to move slowly backwards, until they were on the other side of the hill and out of the tral’s view. Only then did they stand, and did Samhad answer him.
“We will gather after the noon meal. That will give us plenty of light, and strength from the food. Pehr, before we return to the camp, there are things I would discuss.”
“What things?”
Samhad seemed to be gathering his thoughts, trying to determine the best way to articulate what he had to say. Pehr was quiet, waiting, and finally the older man spoke.
“You speak with conviction, and my daughter is absolutely certain that you speak the truth. For my own part, if I’m uncertain about some of your claims, I mean no offense – it’s just difficult to take the entire story on faith. I know you’re not lying, or even exaggerating – at least not consciously. There are some, however, who would not take kindly to a stranger claiming to have come from the mountains, bringing tales of dangerous guardians left there by the Gods.”
“I cannot say whether it was placed there by your gods,” Pehr said, and Samhad shook his head.
“It doesn’t matter; that is how it will be taken by some of those you’ll meet during your time here. If … I do not wish to offend you, Pehr, but I would ask that you present to them a more plausible story, and leave the truth as you have spoken it to stay among my family, at least for now.”
Pehr shrugged. In all honesty, he had little interest in recounting the tale of the Lagos attack and Jace’s death for anyone else. “What shall we tell them?”
“Your skin is darker than ours, but there are those who live on the coasts to the far southeast who are nearly as dark. We will claim that you have come from there without a family, that you and I met this last winter when I brought my own family in that direction. We will say that I offered to let you come with us on our trip back to the plains, because you are courting my daughter and because my own brother is not here to help me. My people rarely hunt alone and will understand why I would take you into my home.”
“Where is your brother?” Pehr asked. He was amused that it should be Tasha’s father suggesting he claim to be courting the girl. Pehr himself had never even thought of it; his thoughts were still with Nani.
“My brother found a woman in the south and stayed there to court her. He is five years younger than I am, but old for an unmarried man in our land. He will not have many more chances.”
“I wish him luck,” Pehr said. “His decision has made us a convenient excuse.”
“Perhaps it was fate,” Samhad said, and Pehr thought back to the saying Tasha had taught him.
“Life is a dance, and fate is our music,” Pehr said, and the Plainsman glanced over at him, cocking his head in surprise.
“Is it so, Khada’Pehr of the western lands?”
“I think it must be,” Pehr replied.
* * *
“Your father had me pretend I was courting you,” Pehr said, and laughed a little.
Tasha did not laugh, but neither did she seem offended by the concept. She said, “I thought he might. It makes some sense.”
“They believed him, anyway.”
“Good.”
Pehr waited for a moment to see if she would say anything further, and when she didn
’t, he asked, “Why does it make sense?”
Tasha shrugged. “I am of age, you are of age … why else would you help a man who is not your kin?”
“Why would a man take in a boy who has such plans for his daughter?”
“It is easier to watch a boy when you keep him in your home,” she replied. “If you were really courting me, Khada’Pehr of the western lands, you would be in there with him, and certainly not out here with me.”
They were out in the grass, away from the confines of the family home. Pehr had built a small fire of dead jesuva branches, digging a wide, shallow pit so that the embers would not catch the grasses alight. He was lying on his back near it, the grass bent down under him to form a comfortable pad, listening to the unceasing buzz of the insects that Tasha called crickets.
“Since I’m not courting you, he allows us to be alone,” Pehr said, feeling awkward. Out here it was hard not to notice the way the moon shone on Tasha’s white skin, or how her simple leather garments hugged her hips and breasts.
“Yes.”
Pehr considered this. “What if I said I want to court you?”
Tasha seemed as unmoved by this as if he had suggested that the two of them share a meal together. She glanced over at Pehr with an expression of mild curiosity.
“Do you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mmm … ask me again when you know.”
Pehr laughed a little at this. “Maybe I do.”
“I don’t think so,” Tasha said. “I think you want to bed me, because you’re a man and I’m a woman … or anyway we’re near enough for all of that … but I do not think you want to court me.”
The Broken God Machine Page 13